


For All That You Are

by ErieCanal



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Infertility, Insecurity, Mating, Mating Bond, Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, Past Abuse, Romance, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-27 12:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19013341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErieCanal/pseuds/ErieCanal
Summary: Everything that Lauren is seems to contradict who she was once meant to be. She was supposed to be strong, educated, and powerful— the embodiment of the contemporary woman. Now, as the truths and traits that identified Lauren for years continue to betray her, she questions whether any of the life she used to dream of is possible.Then she meets Bucky, who makes her feel like all of her conflicting identities are not warring factions within a divided self, but beautiful representations of what makes her Lauren. For the first time since everything changed, Lauren thinks that maybe what she once imagined could become a reality.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thanks so much for reading my work-- i really hope you enjoy it. i wanted to add just a few notes before we begin: this is not canon at all, bucky will not show up for a couple of chapters (i really want to build/develop lauren a little bit first), and it is best to think of this first chapter as a short prologue of sorts (it will be set a few years before the other chapters and mostly serves to provide some context for things that will happen later). i hope that's helpful!
> 
> -carly

It was, once again, too early for me to be thinking. Or moving. Or functioning in any capacity, for that matter. It was somewhere around seven in the morning, and for what felt like the millionth day that school year, I was sitting in my favorite spot in the hallway under the artificial glow of a florescent light fixture, picking at a sausage biscuit from the free breakfast line and trying to plan out my week in my mind— choir rehearsal Wednesday, an academic awards ceremony on Thursday, and work on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday. I grabbed my phone from my back pocket, opened a new note, and was beginning to type all of this out when the first bell of the day rang through the otherwise quiet hallway. 

I got up slowly, looking up and down the hall as I did so. After glancing both directions a few times, I finally saw who I was looking for— Jack, my best and most loving friend and my basically-my-boyfriend-but-not-quite-there-yet. Jack and I were both pretty sure that we wanted to be in a relationship, but we didn’t actually discuss this with each other. I think we both just wanted to make sure that we were compatible first; the last thing anyone wanted was to fall in love only to find out that you’re a Beta and the person you fell in love with is an Alpha so, unless you wanted to be on the run from the government your whole life, you had to call it quits. Until we could be sure that we wouldn’t be ripped apart by the forces above (or whoever it was that classified us), we settled for little moments: holding hands in English or a kiss on the cheek when we parted ways after lunch. 

“Hey, Lars. You look tired,” Jack said as he approached me. I joined him in step, and we set out towards the science wing, cutting through the outside courtyard. The hot New Mexico sun could be felt even at the crack of dawn, a reminder that summer was about to begin. 

I snorted in response. “Thanks, you’re so sweet to me, Jack.”

“Well, it wasn’t meant to be an insult. Just looking out for my all-time favorite person. Did you sleep much?”

“No, I was up late finishing that paper that’s due today for economics,” I sighed.

“Why do you even bother with these assignments anymore? We’re graduating in, like, three weeks. You’ve been accepted to college. You could give up now. You know, contract senioritis? The rest of us have had it the whole year and you haven’t shown a single symptom yet.”

“I don’t know. I think about not doing things a lot but then when I actually try to not do them I feel guilty. It’s hard to explain. Anyways, what’d you get on the calculus test?”

“A 97. You?”

“100.”

“I shouldn’t have even asked,” he chuckled.

“I missed the bonus question, though. I realized five minutes after the test that I forgot to factor out the two in the final step. Probably could’ve had a 105.” 

“Hey, an A is an A.”

“Yeah, an A that could’ve been an even higher and better A,” I responded as we approached my chem class. 

“Shut up, you and your 10.0 GPA will be fine. See you later, Lars!” Jack called out as he continued down the hall. 

I waved goodbye, entered the chem lab, and sat down at the same desk I always do— the seat in the exact middle of the third row from the front. As I pulled out my homework assignment from the previous night and turned to a new page in my lab notebook, I heard the bell ring in the background. I could vaguely make out the sound of Mr. Harlingen, our fresh-out-of-college and often overzealous teacher, beginning his daily string of announcements, which always sounded like a constant overflow of noise to me because he was generally so excited about chemistry and learning and the properties of alkaline metals that he tended to forget to pause when he spoke.  

“Hey everyone, hope you remembered to do the homework last night! I moved the quiz from tomorrow to Wednesday because I felt like we all needed more time to really be successful, and if we could all make sure we have our ID badges on please, the administration is really pushing that right now, also don’t forget that we are having a group study session for the final exam on Saturday at...”

_Shit_. I had completely forgotten about that group study session and scheduled my classification for that day and now I was double booked, a horrible occurrence that I desperately tried to avoid because it made me feel like I wasn’t capable of doing everything that I should be able to do and— I took a deep breath. _It will be okay. You can’t do it all. Mr. Harlingen will understand. He always does._ I repeated these thoughts over and over to myself, but they never quite seemed to resonate with me. 

Class seemed to drag on; it was an endless blur of balancing equations and the periodic table and electron configurations. I tried my best to focus on the lecture, but it was no hope. I could think of only one thing: Saturday. Everyone said that your classification day was the biggest and most important day of your entire life. Finding out whether you were classified Alpha or Beta or Omega apparently changed your life like nothing else— with the exception of possibly God, if that’s the type of thing you believe in— could. I kind of hoped that wouldn’t be the case. The idea of the one day of my life that matters most happening when I was only 17 seemed kind of pathetic to me. I felt that I had more to look forward to— college and hopefully graduate school, entering the professional world, working hard and reaping the rewards, maybe starting a small family along the way.

The obnoxious ringing of the seven fifty-five bell, signaling the end of the period, pulled me out of my isolated, invisible sphere of thought. I dragged myself out of my seat and over to Mr. Harlingen’s desk. 

“Hey, um, Mr. Harlingen, so I’m really sorry but I don’t think— well, actually I know I won’t be able to go to the group study session on Saturday,” I started. 

He frowned. “Do you think you could come for half? It’s from noon to 4.”

“Well, actually I’m getting classified Saturday so I think it’ll probably take all day but I’m not really sure, but if I—“

“You’re getting classified? That’s incredible, Lauren! I bet you’re very excited,” he practically beamed for me. 

“I’m probably more nervous than anything,” I admitted. 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” he assured. “I’m sure you have a pretty good idea of what you’ll be anyways, yeah? You certainly lend yourself to being a Beta.”

“That’s what everyone’s telling me. I don’t know, though; I’m trying not to get my hopes up or get too set on a certain classification or anything. Just in case, I guess.”

“I get that. But you have nothing to worried about, I’m sure it’ll turn out as you’re expecting. It usually does. Besides, the system is always right,” he responded confidently. 

_The system is always right_. I’d heard that my entire life, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I believed it. I desperately hoped that I did. 

 

—————

 

Saturday morning felt insanely slow. Time seemed to creep along, and everything went on for far longer than it really needed to. Breakfast felt like it was three hours long, and the drive to the government complex was like its own little infinity. However, upon my arrival at the complex, I was almost immediately sucked into a whirlpool of sorts; three government aides, all of whom were pulling me in different directions to do very different tasks at the exact same time, were by my side within a few minutes, and I quickly found myself in the midst of the chaotic, frantic process that is classification. 

The testing was a blur. They pricked my finger for blood. I met with a psychologist. I took a multiple choice exam, and I felt so nervous about it that I almost threw up. I had never felt that nervous about a test before— not my calculus test from the previous week or my junior year biology final or even my college entry exams. I did a strange drawing exercise, where I was given a paper with a few thick black lines on it and given very vague instructions: “make them into pictures”. I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to prove. 

After what simultaneously felt like 10 hours and 10 minutes, I was told that I was done and that it was time to be classified. I had decided to receive my results alone as opposed to with my parents: receiving your classification was supposed to be an intimate moment, and I wanted it to be _my_ intimate moment, a time to be relieved or heartbroken or somewhere in between. The aides took me into a sterile white room with a single row of tall-backed chairs. I took a seat and tried to distract myself from thinking about how my fate would be determined in a matter of minutes. I tried counting to 200. I tried the breathing exercises I’d learned from Saturday morning yoga. I tried slowly spelling the longest words I could think of in sign language. None of it worked. 

Finally, I heard a knock on the door. A new aide poked her head in, smiling so bright that she glowed. 

“Lauren Wrenfolk? I have your classification results!” She seemed more excited for me than I was for myself. 

I tried to suppress the tremor in my hand as I reached out to grab the cream-colored envelope in her hands.  

“Go ahead, open it!” She urged. At least I think that’s what she said. In that moment, my consciousness was everywhere and nowhere. I couldn’t think, and I was also thinking about everything. I remember telling myself to _breathe, it will be alright, the system is always right, you’ll be betayou’llbebetayou’llbebeta_. 

I remember opening the stiff envelope and pulling out the freshly printed piece of cardstock inside.  

I remember turning it over and seeing my name and under it, a single word. And then I remember reading that word, and rereading it again and again and again as if scanning back over it would change what it was, as if it would change the fact that my entire world was now going to be undeniably different or that the version of me I had planned my entire future around was not going to exist. 

I remember that word always. It has been with me since that moment, a reality that I can’t ever escape. 

_Omega_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you for reading my first ever work on ao3. it took a lot of courage for me to post this (haha), so if you enjoyed it, please leave kudos or a comment! my plan for this story is still pretty flexible at the moment, so i am super open to reading any and all feedback you might have.
> 
> i hope to have chapter 2 up sometime in the next week!
> 
> thanks again,  
> carly :-)


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! just a quick disclaimer:
> 
> this chapter goes into some mental health struggles and describes a therapy session. i have tried my best to write this in a way that will not be too painful for anyone, but it is not possible to avoid all triggers completely. if this is something that could be too emotionally painful for you, don't read— please look out for yourselves :-)
> 
> i would also like to add that in writing a therapy scene, i wanted to make it feel at least somewhat realistic. this draws heavily on my own experiences in therapy, but i realize that what i have seen and heard is not in any way representative of everyone else’s experience. please keep that in mind when reading! the therapy session also brings to light a bit of lauren’s personal backstory; it may seem slightly vague or underdeveloped at the moment, but i promise it will all be explored in later chapters.
> 
> thank you so much for reading; i hope you enjoy!
> 
> -carly

— **four years later** —

I was sitting at my standard-issue dorm desk writing a riveting analysis of the themes in an Emily Dickinson poem for my 19th Century Poetry class when a soft alarm rang out from my phone. It was 1:47 pm— time to leave. I slowly unraveled myself from my tight, cross-legged position and grabbed my thick navy coat from where it hung next to my door. After running through my usual leaving-the-dorm-routine ( _Phone? Check. Keys? Check. Purse, ID, lip balm? Check, check, check_.), I headed down the deserted hall and into the ninth floor lobby, where I was displeased to learn that both of the two elevators in my shabby dorm building were once again not running. I sighed and pushed open the door to the cold, lonely stairwell.

I took my time going down the stairs; I was never known for my physical prowess, and I certainly wasn’t going to walk into my 2:15 therapy appointment hot-faced and sweaty from sprinting down the Halcorn Hall stairwell. Around the fourth floor, I heard the sound of ascending steps, light and quick and almost dance-like. A few seconds later, Leah Burke— who lived two doors down across the hall from me and was notoriously cheerful and chatty—came bounding up the stairs towards me, out of breath and slightly shivering but still smiling.

“Hey, Lauren! Where you headed? It’s really cold out there, I heard it might even snow tomorrow night,” she greeted.

“Oh, um, I’m headed to the wellness clinic. On Monroe Street,” I stumbled out in response. Talking to people felt wrong now, in a way— in my three years at college, I had made it a mission to keep to myself as much as possible. If you don’t let people know you, then they can’t be disappointed in you or misvalue you or shame you. I had learned that the hard way.

“Are you sick? I heard there’s a nasty cold going around campus,” she asked. I wondered how she managed to seem so warm, radiating interest and passion and even kindness like a space heater would emit a steady wave of heat, despite having obviously just braved the bitter New York winter.

“Yeah… I’m sick. Unfortunately.”

_Sick_. That was one way to put it. I supposed it was technically true, although I didn’t mean it in the sense I knew she was expecting. Whatever I was dealing with— trauma, depression, emotional pain, whatever you wanted to call it— was stronger and sharper than any flu or stomach bug I’d ever known, but at the same time, it wasn’t something I could just make conversation about with the boy across the hall or the girl in the stairwell like people did with their allergies or a simple cold. There was a longevity and solemness to what I was dealing with that made it almost taboo.

“Oh, that really sucks. I hope you get better, Lauren! I gotta get my books for class, but I’ll see you around.” She waved and took off up the stairs.

I continued my slow descent through the building, eventually making it outside. The wind was cold and biting as it nipped at my skin through my coat and sweater. Everyone I knew loved to complain about the harsh winters in the city, but the snowstorms and icicles and flash freezes that came with the winter season were my favorite things about life in NYC. It was so different from New Mexico, where the heat was unrelenting and omnipresent.

I always enjoyed the short walk to the wellness clinic. The route I generally took was not heavily used, making it quiet and serene. It was the best place to think— much better than my dorm, which was frequently permeated by the sounds of the rap music my next-door neighbor loved to blare from his stereo system.

Soon, I found myself entering the red brick building that held the wellness clinic, as well as a student-run cafe and various student support offices. I headed towards the back of the lobby and opened the door into the clinic’s cozy waiting room. 

“Hi, I have an appointment with Dr. Kent at 2:15,” I told the receptionist at the front desk, somehow making my words sound more like a question than a statement.

“She’ll be right out. In the mean time, make yourself at home,” the receptionist smiled back. I took a seat in one of the room’s few remaining chairs and took a my book out from my purse— _Macbeth,_ a Shakespearean classic. As I read, I listened to the sounds of babbling creeks and rushing brooks being played softly on the waiting room speakers. It was strange to me that these noises were expected to make me feel calm or at peace, as if the ripples of a far-away river could wash away everything I had felt for the past four years.

I only managed to read a couple of pages before Dr. Kent, a tall, towering woman who almost exclusively wore turtleneck sweaters, appeared. “Hello, Lauren,” she greeted. “Come on back.”

I slowly stood and followed her down a narrow hallway into the same warmly-lit room that we always had my sessions in. I curled into the olive green couch that was pushed into one of the room’s corners. I liked the feeling of having two walls right next to me; it provided some sense of security during therapy, a time of vulnerability and emotion. Dr. Kent settled in as well, positioning herself on her stiff red chair.

“So, Lauren, how’s the week been for you?” she began.

“It’s been… the usual, I guess. Nothing too different.”

“The usual, okay. Did anything happen that you’d like to share?”

“Well… I don’t know. Jack texted,” I responded, unsure of exactly how to answer the question.

“Oh, really? About what?”

“Just asking if I’d be back in town before Christmas. He wants to catch up,” I sighed.

“Do you want to catch up?”

I pondered the question carefully. _Did I_? I desperately wanted to see Jack. Jack, who I had been attached to since the second grade. Jack, the only person I had ever been remotely intimate with. Jack, who I had once imagined a life with. I wanted to hear him talk about school, about what he was up to. At the same time, though, it was hard to think of him, let alone physically be with him. When I thought of Jack, I thought of the stunned and seemingly heartbroken expression I had seen on his face when I told him I had not been classified Beta. I thought of high school, the first two years full of achievement and high hopes and the last two years marked by continuous disappointments, most of which were related to my classification. The memories that Jack evoked were not ones I wanted to remember. 

“I like the idea of catching up. But actually doing it? I don’t know,” I answered.

“Why’s that? What makes you unsure?”

“Jack is… I don’t know, it’s complicated. He’s a reminder of all that once was. Like, I had everything going so well. I was doing so well in school and I was smart and people saw that. I had it all planned. College, my career, my life with Jack, everything. And when I think of him now, it just forces me to remember that that’s gone, and now I’m _this_.”

“I would argue that ‘this’ isn’t any less than what you were four or five years ago. Yes, your future certainly looks different now, but there is still a lot out there for you, Lauren. You are still smart, and you’re still doing well at school. You’re at college. None of that has changed,” Dr. Kent reasoned.

“But it _has_ changed. I’m not smart, I’m smart _for an Omega_. I’m not successful, I’m successful _for an Omega_. There’s always a modifier at the end,” I said, frustrated. “And yes, I’m at college, in a program _for Omegas_. There’s a difference between going to Columbia University and being a part of Columbia’s first ever Omega education program. People don’t see smart, they see Omega.”

“But the problem is not that you are Omega. The problem is that subconsciously you feel that being Omega somehow devalues you or implies that you are less smart or less important or less you. None of that is true. You _are_ Omega, and that is okay.”

“I don’t want to be,” I bitterly responded, now upset. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what I was angry at— myself or Dr. Kent or my classification or the world. 

“Lauren,” Dr. Kent sighed, “I hate to say this, but I think it brings up a valuable point. The system is never wrong. There is a reas-“

“That’s bullshit,” I cut her off. “You know that’s bullshit. I’ve heard that my entire life, and it is _wrong_. No one wants me to be an Omega. I’m getting a college education. I was diagnosed as ‘almost-completely-infertile’ my senior year of high school. People don’t want Omegas like that. My family doesn’t want me to be an Omega— my own father stopped talking to me when I turned out Omega. I don’t even want to be Omega. The system is wrong. It has to be,” I explained in tears. I was frustrated and exhausted, but at the same time, I felt relieved. After I was classified Omega, I had kept quiet. I had only told people if they asked— an attempt to avoid the unwanted attention and rumors and whispering that would inevitably come with people learning that I was shockingly not Beta. For years, the thought that maybe there had been a mistake had stewed inside of me, broiling and bubbling but never quite reaching the edge. Finally getting to release that idea and share it with someone, even if it was just my therapist, made me feel lighter and a little more at ease.

Dr. Kent stayed quiet for a moment. She looked down at the laptop that always sat on her lap— her version of the classic therapist clipboard. She took what appeared to be a deep, cleansing inhale, and then began to speak.

“Lauren, I can’t argue that the cards seem stacked against you being an Omega. That is very clear. But there is a part of this that you are not acknowledging, and I feel that it needs to be recognized,” she said carefully, as if I could snap at any moment. “Being an Omega could be good for you. I can’t say exactly how because, if I’m being honest, I am not exactly sure. There could be something in this that we’re not seeing, something that could really create a lot of meaning for you. I want you to consider that.”

It took almost everything I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. This was just a more verbose, slightly more informed version of the same words she had spoken moments earlier: “The system is never wrong.” I was done hearing those words.

“I’m serious,” she continued. “You don’t have to like your classification. I am not asking you to do that yet; actually, I feel that you have every right to dislike being Omega. I am asking you, though, to try it. I know that sounds silly, like I’m your mother trying to convince you to eat the nasty green beans on your dinner plate. I just feel that if we approached this with a little bit more ‘maybe’ and a little less ‘no’, we might see some progress.”

I looked down at my fingernails, trying to find something to fidget with. I didn’t know what to say to that. It definitely was not an idea I liked, but I couldn’t deny that it was somewhat reasonable. She wasn’t asking for very much.

“We are free to drop this for now if you would like, Lauren,” she offered. “I think I need a little bit of time to analyze the situation further in order to determine how I can best assist you.”

I nodded my head, eager to move on to something else. We spent the remainder of the session discussing things that I found slightly distressing but not too emotionally taxing to talk about at length— the pile of homework I needed to complete for my British Literature class, my upcoming Early European History exam, the presentation on the history of the autobiography that I was scheduled to give the next week. Eventually, we came to a mutual closing point; I had little else that I wanted to discuss, and I knew Dr. Kent needed to start preparing to see her next patient. However, as I was shuffling through my large purse, searching for the spare pair of gloves I always kept with me in the winter months, she spoke again.

“Before you go, Lauren, I think we should set some goals for this next week.” She paused, seemingly seeking my approval. I looked up at her— my way of giving her permission to go on. 

“I believe it might be to your benefit to sign up for a matching event,” Dr. Kent proposed.

My eyebrows furrowed. There was absolutely nothing that I wanted to do less in the world than attend a matching event. The idea of being surrounded by Alphas, most of whom would probably find me to be a repulsive and unfit Omega, made me feel panicked. Alphas were frightening. They were over-assertive and aggressive, judgmental and particular, sometimes misogynistic or egotistical. I made a conscious effort to avoid them in my everyday life, and now Dr. Kent wanted me to go to an event where there would be fifty, maybe even sixty of them in one room?

“I know that probably sounds horrifying to you,” she rambled on, “but it could be a good opportunity. It’s highly unlikely that you would meet your Alpha at the first event you ever attend. Even so, though, you might meet someone who could brighten your point of view on the Alpha-Omega system, or you might develop a better idea of what you would want in an Alpha. Or maybe you could make an Omega friend.” 

“No,” I resolutely answered. I did not want to go to a matching luncheon or gala or whatever it was. In fact, I refused to do so.

Dr. Kent frowned slightly but nodded her head at me, accepting my decision. I quickly said goodbye and walked out of the tense room, ready to be alone with my thoughts again.

 

—————

 

The day after my unusually strained appointment with Dr. Kent, I spent my afternoon in a little-known coffee shop on the outskirts of campus, drinking a small caramel latte with a shot of espresso and scrambling to get through an assigned reading that needed to be done before class the next day. I briefly stopped working to stir my coffee with its plastic straw when I heard the jingling of the shop’s front door. I looked up to see a young couple— probably not in school anymore but also probably not much older than I was— walk in, quietly laughing together over what I imagined was an intimate inside joke. 

After a few seconds, I pulled myself back to my reading. The last thing I needed was to get distracted; if this assignment didn’t get done that afternoon, it would probably never get done. However, as the giggling couple approached the counter and began to order, I couldn’t help but be drawn back to them. The tall, slim man placed his hand on his girlfriend’s (fiancé’s? wife’s?) back as he ordered two drinks and two sandwiches, one for each of them. It struck me that they had to be an Alpha and an Omega— it was customary for Alphas to order food on a date or outing of any sort. As he gave the barista his name, his partner leaned into him, smiling. I wanted to be slightly repulsed, or at least compelled to look away. For some reason, though, I wasn’t.

The man paid for the order and waited by the bar for the food while the woman, still grinning slightly, found them a table in the far corner of the homely building. I saw her pull out a small but thick book from her purse, and if I squinted my eyes just right, I could read the title: _Macbeth_. 

Soon, her Alpha joined her in the nook she had chosen for them. He handed her a steaming drink and a brown paper bag, which held a freshly made sandwich. He sat close by her, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, and from her purse pulled out another book, one she had been carrying for him. It was bigger and hardback, with a black and white photo of what looked like Steve Jobs on the cover— a biography, perhaps. The attractive young Omega took a slow sip from her drink and turned to her Alpha, practically beaming at this point— she radiated joy and contentment and even a sense of belonging. Then, she looked back at the play she was reading, _Macbeth_ , flipped to a new page, and began to read.

I couldn’t help but feel like I was intruding on a personal moment between the two strangers, so I finally forced myself to get back to work. However, after witnessing the interaction between the two mates, full of mutual love rather than one-sided power and control, I couldn’t deny that some part of me felt inexplicably _different_.

 

—————

 

Later that night, when I had finished all of the homework that I could will myself to do for the day but was still not quite ready to go to sleep, I attempted to entertain myself by idly searching the Internet. I read a few Wikipedia pages on some modern country music stars (a topic that I was relatively uninterested in but alarmingly unaware about), watched a “Best Reality TV Moments” montage on YouTube, and was beginning to search for a Washington Post op-ed that a friend had recommended when an idea, unwanted but not able to be ignored, wedged itself into the forefront of my mind.

Passively, I opened a new browser window, but then quickly closed it again. I spent a few seconds staring at my laptop’s sleek black keyboard before taking a few glances around my dorm. As my eyes passed over my unusually cluttered desk, I caught sight of a blue paperback— _Macbeth._

Sighing, I opened another window and typed a short question— “how to sign up for matching event”— into the search bar that ran across my homepage. I quickly pressed enter and scrolled though the first few results. 

It wasn’t hard to find the answer to that question. It wasn’t hard to get on the New York Classification and Matching Office’s website or to click the tab on the site that read “Prospective Matchers: Click here!”. It wasn’t even hard to type in my personal information— name, birthday, classification, among other things— or select a date to attend a matching event. It _was_ hard, however, to click the button that read confirm. I took a deep breath and looked back over at the worn copy of _Macbeth_ that sat atop my desk. I remembered reading it in the waiting room of Dr. Kent’s office. I remembered seeing the cheery couple in the coffee shop, the Omega completely absorbed in her copy of the same drama. And then, without thinking too much about it, as to avoid making myself too worried or frightened or stressed, I closed my eyes and clicked confirm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends!! thank you sooo much for reading this chapter. it is a little longer than the prologue was, and i think i am pretty happy with how it turned out! if you enjoyed it, feel free to leave kudos or a comment-- i am very open to hearing your questions, concerns, kind criticisms, and (hopefully) praises.
> 
> i hope to have chapter 3 completed and published in a week or so, although it may take a little bit longer than this chapter did because i am working starting next week (oOoOo fun). chapter 3 will be exciting, though-- someone new will be making an appearance. :-)
> 
> thanks again, 
> 
> carly <3


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